


the only thing that's real

by xnowimnothing



Category: Nine Inch Nails (Band)
Genre: F/M, Fear of Abandonment, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 09:02:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17864426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xnowimnothing/pseuds/xnowimnothing
Summary: You're in a relationship with Trent and you're afraid he'll leave.





	the only thing that's real

**Author's Note:**

> My way to cope with my borderline personality disorder is to write about it. I didn't plan on posting this one, it was meant to be personal, but I liked the way it turned out (in Italian, I'm still not sure about its translation) so I said. Fuck it

Your room gets southern exposure. It’s 3 p.m. Trent stands right in front of you, his green eyes lit directly by the sun that enters from the window. He looks like he’s part of the forniture, immobile, statuesque, beautiful. Green his irises, they match the sheets of your bed (what a weird color choice for bedding, you think). His wavy, dark hair projects shadows on his face, adding intensity to his expression. Is he incredulous? Is he surprised, disappointed? Angry? The more you look at him, the more you think his emotional whirlwind includes all these adjectives. You know Trent; you know he’s gonna start talking soon. But at the same time you think that maybe you don’t know him that much. You’re afraid he could yell at you. You don’t want to be yelled at.

He looks away from your face; his lips tighten. A little too much, you believe.

He starts walking towards you, laying in the bed, looking at him, two pillows behind your head to keep you reclined. Arms at your sides, blood that looks brown absorbed by your green sheets. You can’t stop thinking that they are as green as Trent’s eyes in the sun.

The blade you used gleams in the sun as well. It’s on the floor, by Trent’s feet now. He still hasn’t said a word since he saw you. It isn’t an unusual scene, though, the one in front of him. You thought he would be used to it; the fact that he isn’t, you have to admit, kind of annoys you.

He crouches next to you, kneels on the floor facing your immobile forearm. He looks. He continues to stay silent. You’d like to stroke his head but you think it's inappropriate now so you don’t. You don’t understand why it’s so tragic. It’s no big deal. He could just lie next to you and speak to you. He could assure you he still wants you, maybe. Why isn’t he doing it? Why isn’t he telling you he won’t abandon you? He knows you need it. You start to worry.

_Tell me you love me, Trent, please. It’s okay. It’s just a little blood. Don’t leave me for it._

Silence. With his fingers, he brushes your arms, where blood dripped, careful not to touch your wounds. The blood is getting more dense. He doesn’t talk, you don’t speak. From this perspective, the light doesn’t illuminate his eyes. You can’t see them. They are looking down, trying to assess the damage you caused.

What damage?

Anxiety creeps in, your heart beat increases. You’re afraid. You don’t want him to be angry at you. You don’t want him to leave you. Trent is all you have.

Suddenly, he gets up. He heads out of your room, leaving the door open.

You start feeling something again… you feel you’re about to cry. Your chest is growing heavy and the calm that had followed your cuts starts to dissipate. You destroyed everything. You should have known better. Trent hates you, as it should be. You’re alone again. Alone with your pain.

You allow yourself the luxury to cry.

You barely acknowledge that Trent’s back. He has something in his hand, that he puts on the nightstand. Your vision is blurry. He seems nervous while he sits on the bed next to you, but then he hugs you, he keeps you close, and you feel all the warmth of his body against yours. He dries your cheeks with his thumbs while he looks you in the eyes. Compassion, empathy is what you see. No hate. No anger. This calms you down a little. You stop sobbing, but there are still some tears poised on your lashes.

“I love you, you remember this, don’t you?” He says. You want to answer but you can’t. The sun penetrates his eyes again, and now they’re intensely green like before. Green just like the sheets you stained.

The remaining tears finally fall.

He kisses you on the lips, a hand on the side of your face. His touch is extremely delicate, as if he was afraid to break you. Or afraid to cut himself, for all you know.

“The cuts aren’t that deep. You’ll be fine with some disinfectant,” he whispers. You stretch your arm. Trent grabs the cotton and antiseptic he’d put on the nightstand; you let him. It burns. You look at the way he meticolously dabs at your wounds, careful to wipe away all the blood from your skin, using all the tenderness he has.

You feel extremely vulnerable right now, but it’s Trent, and you trust him.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Hurt by NIN. Corrections are always welcome!


End file.
